The Boot’s Thud, And The Cry For Justice.

It was one typical freezing midnight on Feb 1956 in Moscow. It had been snowing all day. Municipal trucks and shovels were struggling to remove the 12" think layer of snow and sleet off the broad boulevards of the Soviet capital.
But that didn't stop Nikita Khrushchev from summoning the members of the 'Central Committee' of the CPSU to convene for a meeting at the Politburo, following the demise of Tavarish Stalin, and the subsequent Khrushchev's assuming of power.
Nikita's speech was revolving around one topic: condemnation of Stalin's sole possession of power, Stalin's deviation from Leninism, Stalin's mischievous behaviour toward the principles of communism...bla ... bla ... bla...
While he was standing to the top of the mahogany conference table, delivering his speech, Nikita was handed a small piece of paper. On it was a note scribbled by one of the meeting's attendees.

"Where were you Tavarish Nikita when the late Stalin was violating our principles? and what did you do to confront his misconduct?"

Khrushchev, known for his political sagacity, read the note out loud to his comrades ...
After pausing for a moment, he took his gaze off the paper and looked around at the lame faces in front of him and said confidently:

"Who wrote this? Where is he?"

There wasn't any audible reply, horrible silence was dominating the scene.Then, without further ado, Nikita added:

"I've been there all these years during Stalin's tenure, I've been exactly at the place of the person who has written this note"

.....

It's no secret that the majority of world's states are ruled by military boots. At this moment of time where few courageous people are slating the lack of freedom of speech and the arbitrary imprisonment of human right activists. I find myself obliged to resort to my comfort zone, pledging allegiance to the silent majority.

(Picture: 'Sole of the army' by rowdycowboy, Source: www.deviantart.com)

I Got Tagged, by Kaya

I got tagged by the uproarious Kaya.

Here we go...

A - Available or Single
I am single and available (what’s the difference anyway؟), although I don’t like the term ‘availability’ , what am I a ‘stock’?

B - Best Friend
a book and shisha nozzle.

C - Cake or Pie
Cake. But I can do with a pie if I have to.

(Ya akhy feen al D?)

E - Essential Item
my lap top and a book (again).

F - Favourite Colour
Navy blue!

G - Gummi Bears or Worms
Is there a ‘camels’ variety?

H-Home town
Aleppo. (if you think it sounds funny, be my guest and use the Arabic pronunciation ‘Halab’)

I - Indulgence
sitting at the ‘coffee beans and tea leaves’ of the MOE and watch voluptuous women waddle by…
(yeah.. I know...it's pathetic)

J - January or February
February is volatile (the leap year recurrence). I like volatile.

K - Kids
none.

L - Life
An open buffet. A journey to be savored.

M- Marriage
future entanglement.

N- Number of Siblings.
One.

O - Oranges or Apples
Oranges.
(no tangerine please!)

P - Phobias, Fears.
The clicking sound of a typewriter in the dark. (typodarkophobia)

There are few more here.

Q - Favourite Quote
”From all the things I’ve lost, I miss my mind the most”

R - Reason to Smile
I smile at all things beautiful; pretty girls, cute kids, an intelligent conversation….

S - Season
Autumn. Love the hissing sound of falling leaves.

T - Tag Three People
’ve been tagging people left and right recently. So whoever feels like it, please be my guest and get your self tagged.

U - Unknown Fact About Me
at times, I get very short tempered and become easily provoked.

V*W - Worst Habit
Smoking.

X*Y - Your Favourite Foods
Stuffed grape leaves. Cooked eggplants stuffed with marinated rice (mehshi). Stuffed lamb (kharoof mehshi)….anything that is stuffed and eatable (and not stuffy)

Z - Zodiac
Sagittarius.

For an update on your May's horoscope (or Horror-Scope), click here.

The Flesh, The Camp, And The Vehicular Transformation.

This was one of the most dreadful rides I’ve ever had.

It started on one nice August afternoon couple of years ago in Ras Al Basit (a seaside resort-like area). I was packing my stuff and getting ready to go back to Aleppo.

One of the most observed summer ritual of my family is the mass congregational trip to Lattakia’s Ras Al Basit. We would all go together: my parents, uncles and their wives, aunties and their hubbies, and all their progenies. It was a real nuisance to be around that number of little children, but it was also a lot of fun.

I had to go back ahead of my family to join the ‘Production Camp’; a compulsory activity month that everyone in his fourth year of engineering should attend.

Given the fact that I was traveling alone, I was deprived the convenience of private cars and had to rely on a public mean of transport, so I walked to the main road and waved for the first vehicle that came speeding from far away.

I hopped on the 14th passengers minibus (mekro), and was so relieved to see that there wasn’t so many other passengers ‘on board’, so that should things go well, I can easily hijack the rear seat, stretch my legs all over it and sleep all the way.

How gullible I was…

For the next two hours, the minibus kept shuttling back and forth between as Al Basit and Al Badrosieh, until it’s become packed with people. The rear seat sleepover fantasy was shattered.
Then, out of the blue, we were asked to ‘evict’ the minibus and get on a 30 passengers coaster.

I was familiar with these kind of coasters, a genetically modified version of what used to be 24 passenger bus. Customized and refurbished in a nasty industrial area of Aleppo called (Ramoseh), where mechanic geniuses toil under the sun in order to cram those buses with the maximum number of seat. A process that also involved re-routing all the wires...

This pretty much what happened that evening, the bus has ended up crammed so badly in such a way that saying it was ‘fully occupied’ would be a huge understatement.

Well, the bus sat off for the long 4-5 hours trip, I knew I needed all the patience in the world to make it to the end without punching somebody. So I took a deep breath and tried to relax.
The evening sky was getting darker, by the time we’ve reached the curvy roads of Ghabat Al Frulek (Al Frulek Forests) it was pitch-black outside- it was a moonless night.

Then to my dismay, I came to realize that the headlights of the bus weren’t working!
“What the heck is wrong? What about the driver, is he not aware of it?” I grumbled to myself.

I was even sure that passengers in the front seats were quite aware of it themselves, but none of them seemed to be bothered.

I couldn’t stifle the urge to intervene, so I stood up (well not in the upright form, as the ceiling of the bus didn’t allow the luxury) walked ‘down’ the aisle toward the driver. Then his assistant (the mo3awin) noticed me approaching, he looked at me with malignant eyes, like I better come up with a very good reason why I am treading on his sanctum, or else I'll be doomed.

DJ: “what’s wrong with your head light?”
ASS: “nothing, some wire must have gotten eroded or loosen, we’ll fix it at Al Asatil” the assistant said.
DJ: “and how will you manage driving all this distant without lights?” I was now addressing both the assistant and the driver…
ASS: “this is none of your business, we know the road, we’ve memorized it by heart”!

The discussion was getting useless and acrimonious, I went back to my seat.

I sighed and contemplated the situation; not even one single thing was going right at that evening: loss of time, defected bus, rude people, all in all a fucked-up ride…

I took another deep breath, I didn’t only need to be patient then, I needed to be lucky to get to the next stop unscathed.

I tried to eavesdrop at a conversation between two little kids sitting on the laps of their parents. They were mimicking a cartoon show. I amused myself at the innocence of those two little creatures. For first time since I boarded that bus, I felt calm. Even more, I felt safe; angels must have been at work guarding these kids.

To add insult to an injury. The driver decided to entertain few hitch-hikers along the way. Some of them wanted to get dropped at their village several kilometers off the road. The driver refused. That was about the only good thing he’s done that evening. However, if it wasn’t for the uproar of the passengers, the bus would have ended delivering those intruders at their village and getting lost in the rugged roads in the way back.

We’ve pulled over to a gas station (Istera7a) at Al Asatel, a fabulous mountainous area on the road between Lattakia and Aleppo, with fascinating scenery. Luckily, the driver had a tool kit kept in the bus’s baggage store. He swung its cover opened. Then multiple shelves stood erect, flung on them were different sets of tools: wrenches, screwdrivers, old wires and a second hand light.

Good, that was a promising start.

The fuck-head assistant tilted the hood cover, they began what appeared to be a repairing attempt.

One thing I don’t understand about us Syrians; and that is when a bus pulls over to a gas station during a trans-provincial trip. You see kids plunked all over the place. Crossing the road to the other side in order to pee, poop, pluck flowers, play football and take photos. In our case, darkness has reined the movement of almost everyone.

What could possibly happen if a bus like ours was sweeping its way through in the darkness without headlights on, while children were scattered all over the place?

Anyway…after 45 minutes or so of desperate endeavor. The lights were still not working. The driver decided that he couldn’t do any better. He called up the office of his company in Aleppo to dispatch another bus. He didn’t even bother to inform us collectively about his plan. He was sitting in the café next door, sipping his Matteh while the passengers were passing the news on from one to another.

Very annoyed by the way things were going, and propelled by my determination not to miss the first day of the camp. I fumbled my way through the dark till I reached the verge of the road. And then once my iris has adjusted to the lower level of illumination. (or the lack of it). I felt more firm on the ground, more independent and more confident.

I then waved for the first pair of glimmer approaching, it was another 14 passengers minibus. It’s slowed down before coming to a complete halt.

The automatic side door slid open, and even though my eyes were weary and tired, I could recognize from beneath my squint-eyelids that the bus was transporting Armenian girls from Kasab back to Aleppo. The one in the front gave me a quick once-over and then turned her head in what appeared to be a sign of approval to the driver to allow me on board. I told the driver I was going to Aleppo. The fare was mutually agreed. He nodded his head toward the rear seat. I hopped in.

Sweet Lord! The rear seat was VACANT!

I then sat all alone on the rear seat. Pondering over the drastic transformation that has just happened.

After suffering from the tightness of the space. And after having to put up with the irritable passengers, the rude assistant, and the lack of safety, I am now offered the pleasure of a feminine company, and enjoying the luxury of the rear bench all by myself, on a bus that is trouble-free.

Allah Akbar!

As I sat there half drowsy and half dreamy, peering at the exposed tanned shoulders in front of me. I then came to terms with the universal truth.

Patience is as bitter as tar, but the outcome is sweeter than honey.

Beautiful demons were jiggling inside my head as I was falling asleep. I only then became ready for the adventurous following day at the 'Production Camp'.

Karma or Grapes?

I am confronted with an ethical dilemma today.
The story began couple of days ago when my Boss asked me to carry out the gigantic mission of upgrading our Database of specifications in the office.
His objectives were justified and reasonable (yet not necessarily noble) as it is essential to every engineering office to have a sound and up-to-date information on all aspects and facets of the trade.
Regardless of the fact that he himself has been in the office for 8 years before me, and that the stagnant status quo of the material and literature we have is a direct outcome of his incompetence as a senior person then and a manager now, regardless of all that, I decided to take up this task genuinely and seriously.
Upon contacting some friends and relying on some old resources of mine, I stumbled across a vault of treasures, whole volumes of American and British standards. I imagine that even for a resourceful person, it would be hard to acquire them through the conventional means of browsing library directories, or even browsing Ebay and Amazon might not yield much results.
Now, I am confronted with the ethical dilemma:
Am I being too naive by passing these treasures over to him so easily?
Should I make a big fuss out it and prattle on about how invaluable these resources are and if it wasn't for my own synergy and efficiency he wouldn't have dreamt about putting his hands upon them?
Should I let things go smooth by giving them to him, and suggesting the means of making the best out of these things? (note that he can't make use of them on his own)
Should I abide by the Karma? or should I keep the all grapes for my self?
Your advice is badly needed...

'Curtains' Are Slid Open

Ok guys, that was the mysterious thing behind the curtains, an old American saying of wisdom. If it is not so clear in the photo, here is a transcription of it:

The wise old owl lived in an oak...
The more he heard the less he spoke...
The less he spoke the more he heard...
The wise old owl was a wise old bird...

I apologize for making such a big fuss out of it. I must say that all your guesses were far smarter and more relevant to the original image than this. I just thought that making you curious would draw to this saying the attention it deserves.

Thank you all for participating....

The 'Puzzle'

Can you guess what's behind those curtains?

Winners will be treated with dinner for two at DJ's wonderland.

P.S.:

- The 'My Carafe' image was conceptualized, modeled and rendered by DJ.

- You are entitled to an indefinite (but reasonable) number of guesses!

I've Been Tagged by Karin!

I felt extremely humbled and honored yesterday when my friend Karin imparted me the nomination for the "Thinking Blogger Award".

It seems that the concept of this award/tag was firstly instigated at the thethinkingblog.com website. It has spread like spider net from one blog to 5 others and so on, based on a simple criteria which is to pick '5 Blogs That Make Me Think'.

The participation rules are simple:

1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think,
2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme,
3. Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote.

Now I find myself in the dilemma of selection, not that I can't rely on my own gauges and parameters, but because I have so many blogs in my mind that I would like to nominate, which makes the 'pick and chose' process even harder.

Anyway, after a lot of differential thinking, taking into account the criteria of nominating, and keeping in mind that most of those who I would otherwise like to nominate have been either selected or prone to be cross-selected by others (mind you, this Tag has fallen in the pool of Syrian bloggers and it will definitly spread like a fire in a pile of hay!)

I present you with me five nominations (without any particular order) for the 2007 'Thinking Blogger Award' :


Drum roll please!

***********
***********
***********


1- BuJassem :
Bu Jassem is an enlightened, humble and down to earth Arab young man, he's an Emirati who's now living in the UK for his studies. His blog is a world of varieties; he talks politics, movies, music... I like to call him 'A Great Arab Ambassador'. He usually replys with an equilvalent compliment, the ensued exchnage of praise goes on and on! He's also a talented pianist!


2- Simply Lujayn:
Lujayn is a very smart girl, she and I hail from the same city (Aleppo), and although she's started blogging recently; I am quite impressed by the volume of 'thoughts inducing' dose that she's been able to present through her few posts so far, and I am positively sure that she has lot more to offer in the future.


3- ChenZhen’s Chamber:
I've been lurking at this blog for quite sometime. It is owned and maintained by ChenZhen; an American from Minnesota. He probably doesn't know me at all, I actually can't even remember how I stumbled across his blog. His 'main course' is politics: analysing news from Iraq, compiling queer and off-stream stories from here and there, all embellished with smart (and sometimes humorous) commentary.

4- Mohannad Abou Hammoud:
Mohannad is a Syrian guy, I've also been following his blog closely (and silently!) for quite sometime, and although he writes mainly about things related to his speciality. He doesn't fail to come up with an interesting and eye-opening post every now and then. In fact, if I can contrive a 'best post of the month' award I would certainly vote for this post of his.



5- أنا بموت على حلب

This blog serves as a diary for Ruth McDonough, an American girl who's crurrently residing in Aleppo for her Arabic learning. She narrates her stories and support them with details and photos. It's great pleasure for me to read about my own city from an eye of a westerner. I specially enjoy reading the different encounters and little events that take place under the vaulted roof of old Aleppo's alleys. In fact, I find it quite appropriate to call Ruth: 'The Aleppine Raconteur'!

Congratulations to all of you champs, you are the best!

The Expert on "Crises Management"!

I was tagged by my fellow blogger Abu Fares (the mentor and the social counsellor of every young Syrian blogger!), this time the tag is a bit different; it's kind of a lazy-butt mind test which will determine, based on couple of questions, what kind of Leader one can relate to.

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

I am glad that my counterpart is the handsome and the charming JFK, I must make it clear that I can't even remotely relate to political leadership, I deem myself as a potential leader at a workplace; in fact I am already doing that as part of my daily routine at work.

I would like to continue the relay of this ripple-like Tag by tagging two of my wonderful blogging buddies: Bu Jassem & kaya!

_________________
Update: it seems that Bu Jassem is mourning a friends at the moment, so I am just going to postpone my request for his participation till a later date...

Confesiones en el Piso de Danza

“Almost nobody dances sober, unless they happen to be insane.”
H. P. Lovecraft (1890 - 1937)

“it’ll probably take me five years to learn how to Salsa, another five years to learn Spanish, by which time I won’t be able to keep up with any of these girls”, he whispered to the ears of his friends, while staring at the myriads of girls wiggling their hips at the Latino rhythm.

Some were stiff and robotic. Others were dancing really good; like they had rubber cartilages in their joints, or maybe a whole set of rubberized skeleton.

It’s impossible not to feel alive amongst such crowd. The upheaval of emotion is overpowering… The effervescence of joy is overwhelming….

Salsa seemed to him as a perfect figurative embodiment of the Tit-for-a-Tat concept, but is it so in reality? He made a mental note of asking an expert later...

They proceeded to the bar counter, which was jostling with people waiting for their drinks to be served. They could finally find a slot.

“Damn!” he said to himself. “do all girls look marvelous under dim lights, or am I hanging out in the wrong places during the day?”

No Red Bull? Fine...he can settle for orange juice; he actually doesn’t drink alcoholics (yet?).

“Damn!” the curse was reprised. This time at the tantalizing scene of another girl, drawing half a circle in the air with her extended index fingers. While her dancing partner (that sod of the yo yo!) heaving his furling hands around her waist; he kept rising them until it looked like her bosoms were propped by his thumbs.

“must be easier for girls to Salsa” he said, “or is it that in whichever way they move it suits them quite nicely?”

The orange-juice effect started to kick in.

Suddenly, he felt a sheer piercing pain through his instep, it took him a while before realizing that one hell long of a tapered heel had tread on his shoe. He raised his gaze to see who could be the proprietor of these ivory feet. She’d just completed her swivel by then. Smart enough to realize that she’d stepped on something softer than the parquet floor; she apologized. Then, in a wink of an eye, she'd got pulled back by her partner, who (the other sod of the yo yo) took her for an outrageous dip. (probably as a punishment for being overly courteous with others)

“one thing I like about Salsa”

“what’s that?”

“man leads”

“oh yeah, isn't that the case with all other sorts of partner-dance?”

“true, but they are kinda softer...man might get overcome with affection. This is more physical...you know... when you Salsa, it’s like you’re holding the halt in your hand”

...........

......

The dull conversation raged on…..

Volare!

...
Volare, oh oh
Cantare, oh oh oh oh
Nel blu dipinto di blu
Felice di stare lassu
...